


The Long-Awaited Spring

by Larathia



Category: Final Fantasy VI
Genre: Community: fic_promptly, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-30
Updated: 2013-07-30
Packaged: 2017-12-21 20:26:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/904539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Larathia/pseuds/Larathia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The end of winter comes when Kefka's tower falls. But spring is slow to arrive in a ruined world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Long-Awaited Spring

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Wallwalker](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wallwalker/gifts).



Six months after Kefka's defeat, the victors had gone their separate ways.

It was inevitable really. The brothers Figaro had their kingdom to rebuild, Cyan had new samurai to recruit and train so that Doma's traditions wouldn't be completely lost. Locke took off with Setzer in search of adrenaline and profit (more or less in that order) and Gau left with Mog and Umaro to find a new home the three could share.

Celes went with Terra, to Mobliz. There was a lot to do there; Kathryn and Duane's new baby, the children who needed to be able to _be_ children and not Gau's second cousins, homes that needed to be repaired or completely rebuilt, and monsters to be warded off so that there could be play without fear.

Terra was a _good_ mother to them all. And if she occasionally turned pink, glowy, and furry, well - at least they knew it was _because_ she loved them, and wouldn't let anything hurt them. In many ways she was just as new to life as they were, having spent so many years under a slave crown, and though she often didn't have faith in herself, her ability to relate to the children on a level near their own balanced it out.

Celes had a rather harder time.

It wasn't that she didn't care - though it took the kids quite a while to work that out - it was that she simply had very little vocabulary for caring. Unlike Terra, she had been raised within the Empire and indoctrinated as a soldier, an officer, a knight and eventually a general. So she knew, for example, which houses to repair and which to dismantle for construction materials, and how to use those materials to create defensive structures around the village's perimeter, and where to place those structures so they'd do the most good. She knew how to fight with blade and bow, and how to create and maintain her equipment. And when she wasn't working on repairing and defending Mobliz, she was repairing or modifying her armor.

Because of her work, there were now sheltered garden plots in Mobliz where the most damaged houses had been, and the younger children were carefully watering any seeds she brought back. But Celes herself rarely spoke to the children, and didn't eat with them.

Only Terra knew it wasn't disdain - it was simply that she had no idea what to say, and hated feeling awkward.

It was not, therefore, much of a surprise to anyone that the first to approach Celes was Duane. Celes was running a fine sharpening rod along the edge of her sword, having delivered several lizard carcasses to the shelter to be turned into the evening meal. Enjoying the sunset.

"You were an Imperial General, they say," he said by way of greeting.

"Yes," Celes replied calmly, without pausing in her sharpening. There was no fear in that, only simple admission.

"Why are you here?" Duane demanded, after he realized she would say no more.

"Because Tera is here," Celes answered, still without pausing her work.

"You can't have her, you know -" Duane began, but this time Celes _did_ react. Almost too quickly to see, that blade went from 'at rest' to resting, razor-sharp, at Duane's throat.

And Celes' tone was calm, implacable ice. "I would advise you to consider _very carefully_ your next words," she said. "Terra belongs to herself. She is not yours. She is not Mobliz's. She is not mine. Do you understand?"

That sword had moved _very_ quickly, and it occurred to Duane that no one had actually seen Celes fight. Not since she and the rest of Terra's friends had helped drive off Phunbaba. He could feel how its slightest touch had already drawn blood; it was dripping down his neck. So he didn't nod. He just said, "Yes."

Celes withdrew her sword, resumed her seat. Wiped the traces of blood from the gleaming metal with a soft cloth, and resumed sharpening. 

Duane was finding that carrying this much of the conversation was _annoying._ Realizing that indirect questions received useless answers, and accusations were only going to result in trouble, he tried, "Why are you defending Mobliz? Is the Empire coming back?"

"The Empire is fallen, the Emperor and all his heirs gone save for myself. Mobliz is not 'mine'," said Celes calmly. "I am here because Terra is here. And I defend it because that is what I can contribute. I am no chef, no healer, no gardener."

"But you can fight." Duane nodded. This at least made sense. "Will you teach me to fight?"

Celes' blue eyes were implacable, glacial ice, regarding him. "Katarin is the first mother of this changed world. I will not force her to raise a child in it alone."

"I can fight," protested Duane. And then remembered the speed of that sword and added, "I've taken out monsters before." And then, not entirely sure why it occurred to him to say it, he added, "I'll follow orders."

That made Celes pause, study him thoughtfully. "Bring me a fresh crocus," she said."Newly bloomed. And then I will take your oath, and I will train you. Until then, aid your wife and be father to all the children."

Duane nodded agreement, wondering what General Celes, Butcher of Maranda, would want with a crocus. Celes seemed to have already dismissed him from her mind, though; she put away the oil and the sharpening rods, wiped down her sword and sheathed it.

What on _earth_ would Celes want with a crocus?

The first flower of spring, he knew that. Small, low to the ground, often blue or purple in hue but sometimes white. The season was right for crocus, but try as he might he couldn't find one. Not anywhere in Mobliz, not even in his few daring trips beyond the defenses.

Every day for two months, Duane scoured Mobliz and as much of the surrounding area as he dared to explore. But there were no flowers. Even in the garden, the seeds were slow to sprout, slow to take root.

And every day, Celes worked on the defenses of Mobliz, or on repairing one of the homes, or on patrolling the perimeter. She was willing to accept Duane's help when working on the structures around Mobliz, but would not give him a weapon, or take him on her patrols. When she spoke, it was either to the point or an inquiry about the health of Katarin or the baby.

One did not argue with General Celes. She either didn't respond at all, leaving you feeling like an idiot for shouting at the air, or - if you tried to _force_ her attention - she quickly and efficiently put you on your ass. It was frustrating - spirits of earth it was _infuriating_ \- but...there was nothing he could do but fall in line.

Months passed. As much as Duane wanted to be productive - well, what he thought of as productive - there were still many things that Mobliz needed and he _was_ one of the oldest residents. The crops needed very careful tending; they didn't seem to want to grow in the Judgment-scorched earth. The well had to be kept clean, the other children had to be looked after. Food had to be cooked and stored. And his baby - their baby - was growing amost visibly. 

When he let himself think abut that - his little baby, their little baby, growing in this world that didn't want anything to grow. What would happen come the winter?

He was hammering a wooden shingle into place on a damaged roof when he realized _she won't train me because she isn't sure we'll survive_. Mobliz needed only one defender - well, two, with Terra - because if nothing grew, if nothing _would_ grow, in a winter or two at most Mobliz would cease to be.

That was why she was waiting for a crocus. The first flower of spring. She was waiting for a sign that spring would return. If it did, if Spring came again, new growth, then she would need help keeping Mobliz monster free and a reason to do so. And if it didn't, there wasn't a point in promoting false hope. Or something.

He almost hit his thumb with the hammer, thinking it all through. How could anyone work so hard, every day, and accept at the same time that everyone might be dead in a few months? How could anyone think that way? Function at all?

_I am here because Terra is here._

Duane finished his roofing work and went into the communal house that served as the mess hall and dormitory for the children who were young enough not to want to sleep alone. Terra was helping the youngest children up into their chairs, stacked with books so they could reach their plates.

There must have been something in his face, because Terra gave him her full attention when she saw him. "What's wrong?"

"Why do you love her?" Duane demanded. "How can you?"

Terra blinked. If anything, she seemed confused by the question. "Do we choose who we love?" she asked. "Did you?"

"Katarin is nothing like Celes!" Duane protested.

"...I am nothing like you," Terra replied, still quite visibly confused. "Why is that important?"

Duane stomped out, deciding that arguing with Terra was just as frustrating as arguing with Celes, only Terra made you throw your _own_ ass out.

The next day, Celes' comment was cold and blunt. "If you are angry with me, have the courage to be angry with me. If you upset Terra again, I will be having words with your wife."

From Celes, Duane had to admit that the threat of speaking with Katarin about him did actually feel like a _threat_. And he wasn't sure exactly what it was about the idea that did, because Katarin was a very gentle woman. On the other hand, Katarin was handling a new baby, lots of rowdy orphans, and looked up to Celes and Terra as role models, so it probably wouldn't stay that way.

Nevertheless, Duane didn't look for crocuses for the rest of the year. If spring would come, it would come when spring was supposed to. After winter.

They had to survive winter.

As fall approached, and the little gardens still didn't seem to be readying for harvesting, Celes left more of the rebuilding to Duane and went out hunting. Lizard carcasses hung in the smokehouse, and carrier pigeons were being sent out requesting any spare salt to trade for meat. Mobliz was a very long way from any other settlement, but daring chocobo-riding traders were making the trip.

The harvest was small and late, but books obtained from the traders let them make the best use of everything they could glean from the uncooperative earth. Jellies and jams and preserves of all kinds.

When winter came they were as ready as they could be. Terra's fire magic kept the main house warm, and Celes...

Celes went out into the winter wind and ice alone, returning alive over and over with whatever she could hunt down, and would brook no assistance. To Duane's protests, Terra only said, "Celes has power with ice. She won't freeze, but you will. Stay here." And then put his child in his arms, so that Katarin could get some sleep.

Winter was stories and songs and trying to keep the children from being afraid of the small meals. And Terra fed the fires that kept everyone alive with her power, and gathered firewood while coated in fur and claws.

When the snow and ice receded enough to let everyone come outside, the village seemed awash in mud; the gardens were coated in it, the walkways buried under it. And Terra began organizing the children into teams; planting seeds, cleaning up the mud. And Duane went to check over the other houses, the houses that were currently storage but in just a few more years there might be people in them.

It didn't feel like spring. Just a break in winter's harshness. But they had to treat it as spring, even so. The world had been broken. Everyone knew that. Kefka and his tower had broken the whole world, sunk land into the sea and raised the seabed to the surface. More than once the traders came with tales of suicides, and the fear that true spring would never come again. Weeks passed and the snow and ice disappeared, the trees slow to green.

And then he saw it. Small and precious and blue, just past the edge of a recently-cleared flagstone.

A crocus.

The most beautiful thing he'd seen since his child was born. 

He didn't dare pick it. He just yelled: "Celes! General Celes!"

The cry had always meant attack in the past, and he should have guessed it would seem that way this time too; Celes leaped down from a rooftop in a smooth jump, drawing her blade, even as Terra emerged from the shelter-house, already half transformed and sporting claws.

"No, no!" he called, grinning. "Look! Look!" He pointed down at the flower.

He heard, rather than saw, Celes sheathing her sword as she approached. Both women stopped and crouched at the spot of color on the ground.

Over the little blue flower, Celes reached for Terra and Terra for Celes, their fingers intertwining over the tiny sign of spring.

A slow smile spread across Celes' face, its mirror across Terra's.

Spring had come.

"I will train you, Duane."


End file.
